


Cold Air

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 20:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Dutchy has an asthma attack.





	Cold Air

Eventually Dutchy gave up on trying to sleep. His lungs felt small. They were tight, and filled with slime that he could feel moving and shifting, depending on how deeply he breathed or what position he lay in. That was the part that really disgusted him. He knew what that stuff looked like when he spat it out, and what it tasted like in his mouth, and it was vile. Usually he wanted no part of it, but tonight it was too deep or too sticky or too _something_ , and he longed for those days when coughing had brought with it some small amount of messy relief.

In truth, Dutchy’s breathing had been bad all day. He’d been sluggish while he sold his papers, thinking about how he just wanted to lie down for a while. Now he was finding that lying down made it worse. It wasn’t the best position for getting air into his body, and it was boring besides. Not being able to breathe was bad enough, but being in a dark room where everybody else was asleep and there was nothing to think of besides how he couldn’t breathe was worse. That’s why he finally clamored down from his bunk, and why he wasn’t as quiet about it as he could have been. Plenty of newsies woke up most nights. Maybe if somebody heard footsteps, they’d wake up for a smoke or something and keep him company.

It was March, and winter’s grip upon New York wasn’t as tight as it had been a few weeks ago. That didn’t mean that it was warm. Inside the lodging house it had felt like breathing in smoke and potato soup. Outside, things were cleaner but sharper. Dutchy thought that it was like having a knife in his chest, but at least the knife was pristine and sparkling. Summers in New York were never clean like this. The cold had its benefits, even though it didn’t agree with Dutchy much. The stars were bright, and so was the moon. It was pretty. Dutchy rested his head on his knees, and tried to speculate on tomorrow’s headlines. He hoped it would be tomorrow quickly.

Soon Dutchy felt somebody sit down next to him, and drape a coat down over his shoulders. It was Specs, who’d put on his own hat and jacket, even though his hair was a mess and he only wore a pair of long underwear on the bottom.

“I wake you up?” Dutchy asked. He considered apologizing, but he wasn’t actually sorry, and Specs didn’t look mad.

“You woke Bumlets up. That’s his coat, by the way. He thought you didn’t sound so good, so he woke me up.”

“Since when’s Bumlets think you’re my keeper?”

Specs laughed, and ruffled Dutchy’s hair. “Well I am, ain’t I?”

Dutchy looked up at Specs at that, but his friend quickly looked away. Specs was weird. Sometimes he said things to Dutchy that were so affectionate that Dutchy didn’t know what to make of it, or why Specs would come out with stuff like that. It wasn’t that Dutchy minded, he just didn’t understand.

“You feelin’ okay?” Specs asked.

“I dunno. Listen.” Dutchy breathed out a hard as he could, so that the air came out grumbling, gurgling, and loud. Maybe it was self indulgent, and maybe it was the best way he had of asking for help, but he wanted Specs to understand.

“You sound like a dragon,” Specs observed.

“A puny blond dragon with glasses.”

“Who’s sayin’ you’re puny? You and I is the same height. I take personal offense.”

“Fine. Sickly then,” was Dutchy’s rather despondent answer. He curled up against his knees. If he was going to feel sorry for himself, then he might as well commit with both words and deeds.

“Hey now.” Specs rubbed Dutchy’s back for a moment, and didn’t say much else. “You know what? I hear the cough medicine Kloppman keeps locked up in the cabinet made Blink hallucinate a whole troupe of tap-dancing ladies, ankles and all. How’s that sound for fun?”

That made Dutchy crack a smile. “Knowing my luck, all I’ll get to see are some hippos in pink underdrawers.”

“What’s wrong with that? Sounds downright whimsical to me. I never seen a hippo before. I’d pay a pretty penny so see one, even without the underdrawers.”

“That’s sick,” Dutchy said, and laughed until the laughs turned to coughs. Specs waited. He was patient, and that was one of Dutchy’s favorite things about him. That, more than Specs’ sense of humor, was what made Dutchy feel he could talk to him.

“Hey… Specs?” Dutchy said, once the coughing calmed down. Even so, he had to gasp for breath between each word. “I don’t know that I got a cough. I mean, yeah, I’m coughing worse than usual right now, but there’s gotta be something wrong. I dunno. It’s all the time when I run, or go up stairs, or its cold out, and I know I just came down with the same bug that’s been goin’ around with everyone, but they doesn’t seem so bad. You was sick last week, and all that happened was your throat got scratchy and you started talking like a frog for a couple ‘a days. You think I’m just imagining it?”

“I think you should get it checked out.”

Dutchy nodded. He’d half been wanting to hear that, because something had to give before the mess in Dutchy’s lungs killed him, and he’d half been wanting to hear that he was just being silly, as though such a proclamation from Specs could make the problem disappear all on its own.

“You want I should go with you in the morning?” Specs asked.

“Yeah. If Kloppman’ll give us the money.”

“Medical funds for the year ain’t even been touched yet.”

“And he don’t like touching 'em this early. We don’t wanna run out by May, you know, and…”

Specs sighed. “Why don’t you stop talkin’, huh? I can hear that it ain’t easy for you. Kloppman’s gonna hear it too, and he’ll make up the medical bill sure enough.”

“Alright,” Dutchy agreed. Breathing was getting more painful and more difficult by the minute. He was cold, and he almost thought that it would be easier to just leave off doing it all together, than struggle and struggle and struggle to continue.

Specs seemed to know. He patted Dutchy’s shoulder, then stood up. “Let’s not wait till morning,” he said. “I’m gonna go wake up the old man now.”


End file.
